


Three Versus Two

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Arguing, Celebration after solving the case, Cuddling, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Hounds of Baskerville, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Pouting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 01:25:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5111246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A celebration after a case should be a special time for the boys, but this time there's one too many for Sherlock's liking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Three

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Sherlock carried the two pints over to the table and set them down and then returned for his whiskey. This wasn't what he had in mind when John suggested a celebratory drink on their last night in Dartmoor. He thought it'd be him and John, but it turned out John wanted Lestrade in on their celebration as well. So he'd spent the last hour listening to them discussing the women and meals on their various holidays and then, even worse, an analysis of the rugby team's recent successes. It was all incredibly boring to Sherlock.

He slid back into his chair and waited for what seemed like a break in the conversation and said, "Will you have anything for me to work on when we get back to London?"

Greg took a big sip from his glass and said, "No shop talk tonight, Sherlock. It's a celebration and technically I'm still on holiday -- this should be fun." He leaned over and clinked his glass against John's.

"Yes, that's what I'd thought," Sherlock mumbled. "But I'm still waiting for that to happen." He stared into his glass.

John was feeling good now that this case was finally over. This had been one of the most intense cases they had worked so far, not only because of the trauma he’d been through but the stress Sherlock had been under as well when he thought his mind was failing him. It had been a bumpy couple of days, but they pulled through like always and now he was very much enjoying celebrating the end of it. John nudged Sherlock's arm at the comment he’d made before going back to the fun talk with Greg. He led the stories around to Sherlock's poisoning him and attempting to scare him to death, all for an experiment. That got a bit of talking out of him, but Greg steered the conversation away again, really not eager to talk about work-related things. John easily dropped the subject as well, not wishing to linger on that terrifying moment.

Sherlock watched as the words flew between John and Lestrade. It wasn't quite fair really. This was supposed to be about solving a case -- a case Sherlock had solved -- but the only time his name was mentioned was a little dig from John about the stupid incident in the lab. And soon enough, not only were they no longer talking about him or the case, but the conversation turned again to something from which Sherlock was actively excluded.

"I'll get another round," he said grumpily, though the effort was wasted. He moved to the bar and watched them. Not only had they not heard what he'd said or how he'd said it, they didn't even appear to notice he'd gone.

"Who's the good looking one?"

Sherlock turned around and saw Billy and Gary behind the bar. He presumed they were speaking to him, but he didn't quite understand the question. "John?" he asked.

"No, the silver one," Billy said. He raised his eyebrows and playfully nudged Gary, who turned to Sherlock and asked, "He an old friend of your bloke then?"  
  
Sherlock still didn't quite understand what was happening. "We work with him," he said flatly.

"I see. . ." Gary said, topping up Sherlock's glass as Billy filled the pint glasses.

Did everyone in the room have to be so irritating? Sherlock thought. He took his glass and John's pint back to the table. "Yours is up there," he said to Lestrade and motioned with his hand.

"Fair enough," Greg said, smiling. "I need the toilet anyway," he added, heading there first.

"This is boring," Sherlock said to John.

"I'm sorry," John said. "But it's good to unwind after a case. And I didn't know how much fun Greg is," he smiled.

"Yeah, he's great, he's the greatest man in the world," Sherlock said sarcastically. "That's why he solved the case. I can see why you love him."

John chuckled softly and drank a bit of his lager, watching as Greg made his way back to the table. "You're brilliant, of course," he told Sherlock before Greg returned.

"Yeah right," Sherlock said. He watched Lestrade come back to the table before standing up. "I'm going outside for a cigarette."

He left his glass on the table and walked outside. He took a few steps away from the door, looking around, before lighting up a cigarette.

"Hey you," a voice behind said.

He turned around and saw Gary who was carrying a glass of whiskey which he handed to Sherlock. He smiled sympathetically.

"Thanks," Sherlock said.

Gary lit a cigarette. "Tough night?" he asked.

"No," Sherlock said.

"Oh, all right," Gary said. He stood silently for a few moments before adding, "Your man John . . . you've been together a long time?"

"A while," Sherlock said. He wasn't quite sure what the purpose of this conversation was.

"The other guy . . . he knew John before?" Gary asked.

"No," Sherlock said.

"Oh," Gary said, his voice a bit lighter. "Well, that's all right then . . . nothing to worry about." He took a long drag of his cigarette.

"I wasn't worried," Sherlock said.

"Of course not," Gary said. "You're having the time of your life tonight, obviously."

Sherlock took a drink. "It was supposed to be a celebration," he mumbled a little.

"Cheer up, love," Gary said. "I think you'll be okay once the two of you are on your own."

Sherlock finished his cigarette. "Thanks for the drink," he said, nodding at Gary. He walked back to John and Greg. "I think I'll go up to the room now," he said. He put some money down on the table.

"Oh no, stay and celebrate," John said, already knowing that Sherlock wouldn't do that.

"I'm a bit tired and we've got to be up early tomorrow," Sherlock said. "You two enjoy yourselves." He headed up to the room. He turned on the light but it seemed quite bright, so he turned it off. He had a little bit of a headache. He lay down on his bed. It wasn't very comfortable. Tonight had not been fun at all.

At first John wasn't sure what to make of Sherlock's leaving, but by the time Greg had brought another lager, it was already out of his mind. He now used Sherlock's absence to try to learn more about him -- despite living with him, he felt like he hardly knew the man. Greg, it turned out, was no help at all. Greg had no idea about any relationships Sherlock might have had and stuck to the belief that he wouldn't have one anyway. He did admit, however, that he had never seen Sherlock take to anyone the way he had taken to John. That made John feel rather proud.

The conversation eventually shifted to their past, and John talked about the army a bit, but he avoided anything too heavy so that he wouldn't have nightmares. Greg told John about his own training and about his first case, and then his first case with Sherlock. John was having such a good time that he bought one last round. Finally, after finishing that one in near silence, it seemed they had exhausted all topics and they finally went to bed. John slowly made his way to the room he was sharing with Sherlock, slightly tipsy and smiling stupidly. 


	2. Two

Sherlock had already calculated John's estimated level of drunkenness. He'd also spent quite a bit of time imagining John smiling and laughing. He liked when John did those things. With him. He liked it less when someone else caused them. When the door opened, he closed his eyes. "Don't turn on the light," he said sternly.

John's hand hovered over the switch. He sighed heavily. "I can't see," he grumbled, stumbling through the dark to find the little bathroom. "Thought you'd be asleep," he added. 

"It's barely midnight," Sherlock said. He knew the precise time, of course, as he'd been watching the clock while he'd been waiting.

"Yeah, but you came up early," John said. He shut the bathroom door and used the toilet, washing his face with cold water to try to clear his mind a bit. When he came out again, he stumbled a bit before making it to his bed, stripping down to his pants and climbing in.  

"Are you going to go out of your way to upset me the whole night or will you be wrapping it up soon?" Sherlock said.

John's brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?" he asked. 

"Whatever," Sherlock said. He rolled over to face away from John's bed. He listened to John get comfortable. "You and your friend . . ." he mumbled.

John had closed his eyes, and it took him a moment to process what Sherlock had said. "What friend?" John asked, opening his eyes to the dark again. "Greg? He's you're friend too -- you're the one that left early!"

"I told you, John," Sherlock said. "I don't have friends, I have one. You're the one with all the friends."

John turned on his side to face Sherlock's bed. "Greg likes you. And just because Greg is my friend doesn't mean that you're not. I wanted you to stay," he reminded Sherlock. 

"Whatever," Sherlock said again. Why couldn't John understand? How could that guy Gary understand but John couldn't? "I thought we were going to celebrate," he added quietly.

"We were!" John turned onto his back. "Greg is our friend -- even if you won't admit it -- and it would have been rude to leave him out of it. He was in the woods too, scared just like we were." 

"But he --" Sherlock started. He tried to think carefully but it was hard to. "But he's not us." It was stupid. This all was stupid. "Just go to sleep," he said.

"What do you mean?" John asked, ignoring his request. John wasn't so sleepy now -- he was curious. 

"Nothing," Sherlock said. "None of it means anything." He pulled the blanket up around him. He actually considered pulling it over his head but then he was a bit embarrassed by that thought.

John sighed. "Fine," he said. "You're the one who left. And now you're the one not talking so . . . fine." He turned to face the other way and pulled his covers up. 

Sherlock lay there for a little while longer. His hands gripped the blanket until he realised how tightly he was holding it. Why? He must be angry. That's the only feeling that made sense. He was angry at John. John ruined this evening. John and Greg and their stupid friendship had ruined everything.

What about John and Sherlock's friendship? Why didn't that matter? It mattered to Sherlock. It was the only friendship that had ever mattered to Sherlock. It was always good when they were together. From the very first night. It was always good when they were together. Alone together.

That's what Gary had said -- 'you'll be okay once the two of you are on your own.' They were on their own now but it didn't feel okay. Sherlock didn't feel okay. But it wasn't anger. It was sadness. 

He listened to John breathing. He tried to turn over as quietly as he could. In the moonlight he saw John's body in the other bed. He was facing away from Sherlock. John was his only friend. His best friend. He loved John.

He moved over and sat up on the edge of his bed. He stood up and moved near John's bed. He lifted the cover and slid into the bed behind John, curling around him.

John grumbled and shifted to press back against the warmth of the body before realising whose body this must be. "Sherlock . . .?" he murmured, confused but not moving away from him. A part of him thought this was a bit strange, but another part, a bigger part, was rationalising it. Sherlock was always so closed up and if he was finally reaching out, John owed it to him to let him do that. 

"You're my only friend, John," Sherlock said. He slipped his arm around him to hold him close.

"You're my best friend," John whispered back. He knew that he would do anything for Sherlock, and he hoped that Sherlock knew that as well. He was thinking about what Greg had said, about John being the only person Sherlock had taken to. Down in the pub he had felt proud. Now, wrapped in Sherlock's arms, he felt like this was exactly how it should be. It felt like this was right.

Sherlock snuggled his head into John's shoulder blades. He put a kiss on John's t-shirt. He lifted his head and put another kiss on the back on John's neck.

"Sherlock," John whispered again, his body feeling warmer now. He was surprised, and yet he felt like maybe he had been expecting this as well. He didn't pull away.

Sherlock slipped his hand underneath John's t-shift, sliding it up to his chest and stretching his fingers wide. He kissed the side of John's neck again.

John's breathing became faster and heavier. His hand curled in the bed sheet as he closed his eyes. "Yes," he mumbled, even though Sherlock hadn't asked anything.

Sherlock pulled on John's body, trying to turn him around. "I want to kiss your mouth," he whispered.

John shifted and turned immediately, finding Sherlock's mouth in the dark and kissing him first. He knew this wasn't from the drinking -- he hadn't had enough to be out of his head. But this trip had changed something between them.

Sherlock kissed him back softly at first and then the intensity grew as he realised how right it felt, how natural, as if his body had always known what his brain hadn't -- that they were meant to be like this.

John moaned softly as they kissed, his own hand now moving into Sherlock's shirt to touch his skin as well, roaming over his stomach and up to his chest. Sherlock pulled back and took off his shirt and then pulled on John's. He wanted to feel skin to skin contact. John pulled his own shirt off and kissed Sherlock again, moving closer so they were pressed together. Sherlock's hand moved around John's body, as he kissed John's mouth and neck and the tops of his shoulders. John's head tipped back as he sucked in a harsh breath, the feel of Sherlock's mouth on his skin heating him even more. "Oh Sherlock," he murmured, fingers lacing into those lovely curls.

Sherlock rested his head on John's chest, hearing his heart beat. "You're everything to me . . ." he mumbled.

John dropped his head to kiss the top of Sherlock's head. "You're everything to me too," he murmured.

Sherlock lifted up a little, moving over top of John and lowering his face to kiss him. He rested his body on John's, their bare chests pressed together, and let his hand trail down John's side to his hip. John arched into his touches and moaned softly, kissing him back eagerly. Sherlock felt heat spread throughout his whole being, almost like their bodies were melting together. He closed his eyes as he continue to kiss John's mouth and grip his hips.

John arched up and ground hard into Sherlock, panting softly as they kissed. "Sherlock -- I . . . this feels good," he said. 

"It's always good when we're together, John," Sherlock said. He looked down at his face and smiled. They'd never been this physically close, but it felt good and natural and right.

"Keep kissing me . . . please," John, leaning up for it, rolling his hips again even harder.

Sherlock kissed John again, letting his tongue find John's, John gripped at Sherlock's sides and thrust up hard, coming into his pajamas as he thrust against him.

"John," Sherlock called as he felt what was happening. He let his hips jerk chaotically as his own orgasm hit.

"Oh," John moaned softly, watching Sherlock's face and holding him close.

Sherlock stayed on top of John until his breath settled. Then he slid to his side again, shifting to try to get comfortable as he curled around John again.

John shifted and kissed Sherlock's cheek. "Let me clean up and I'll be back," he said. He went to the bathroom and cleaned up quickly before coming back and cuddling close to him.

Sherlock reached over and wiped his belly with his t-shirt. He didn't say anything when John returned, just squeezed around him as he closed his eyes.

John closed his eyes and relaxed against him. "Good night, Sherlock," he said.

"Good night, John," Sherlock said.


End file.
